The Second One
by GrizzBe
Summary: Molly stands in her kitchen the day after an important phone call with Sherlock that had ended with him hanging up on her. She's making tea when there's a knock at the door.


The knock came hard and concise at her door. It was loud, an important knock, she could tell even from her kitchen island. It could wait for a second, though, her tea was almost ready. Yesterday had been a long day and she needed it. She was pouring her cup when the second knock came, it wasn't as loud or sure of itself, but it was no less important. She started to walk to the door when she heard his voice, "Molly, could you open the door please."

It was soft, almost pleading, uncharacteristic, it stopped her dead in her tracks. She hadn't heard from Sherlock since his damned phone call yesterday. How was she supposed to answer the door after that? She tiptoed to the door, each step bringing every sharp pain from that minute and a half into focus. Only Sherlock could cause her so much pain in such a short time.

She couldn't help but scrub through the whole conversation in her head one more time as if the half-dozen-or-so times she had done so since he had unceremoniously hung up on her yesterday hadn't been enough. He had a case, an experiment and, for whatever reason, needed her to tell him that she loved him.

She prided herself on being able to see through Sherlock's bullshit, a skill that she had developed and honed through painful trial and error over the years that she had known him. That ability of hers had shouted, screamed at her to hang up but there was something in his voice that had stopped her. There had been something there that was so often missing when she dealt with him, something human, something vulnerable. Even then, she couldn't just say it, she needed him to suffer too, no matter how small a victory for her it might be, she made him say it first. 'Like you meant it' she had said, and if his first attempt had been all he could've mustered the phone call would've been over.

But he had said it again. The second one had made her heart stop. She couldn't see him but she could feel him, feel his heart skip the same beat that hers had. So she said it back. Before she could even figure out how she felt about finally saying those three words that she never thought she would say, he had hung up on her. She switched from tea to gin shortly after that, it had already been a rough day and then it was shite one.

She slowly laid her head against the door and tried to muster the will to open it. It was for a case, he had said. Just an experiment for a case, but it felt like so much more than that, ninety seconds and she had the inescapable feeling that whatever relationship she had with Sherlock had been completely changed. His voice came like a whisper through the door, he knew she was right there because of course he did, he was Sherlock Bloody Holmes, "Molly, please open the door. I need… I need to explain myself…"

His breath hitched at that and her eyebrow shot up. He was showing more human emotion in the past 24 hours than she normally saw from him in a year. Whatever this case of his was must be particularly rough. Her hand reached out for the knob and slowly turned it. She cracked the door and pressed her body against the door frame, not so much opening the door for him as allowing her to see his face. She took a deep breath, "No you don't, Sherlock. It was… it was for an experiment, right?"

A police car's blues and twos went off somewhere in the distance, briefly pulling her attention from Sherlock on her front steps. He looked tired, more than tired, he looked exhausted. A faint smile played across his lips but it didn't quite make it to his eyes, "Well, that isn't exactly true…"

She tried her hardest to remain stone-faced but her eye must have twitched or her lip must have quivered, Sherlock seemed to panic for a split second. He put his hand on the door as if he were afraid she would slam it in his face, "Look, I would understand… If you didn't want to see me right now. I just need to explain myself to you, Molly."

She stood there in the doorway, just as likely to close the door and return to her tea as she was to open it and let him in. Part of her was screaming to close the door, that she had been a pawn in too many of his little games and that she had learned her lessons. Another part of her replayed the second one in her head again, there had been something there. It might not have been for an experiment but it was important, whatever it was for.

So she opened the door and they went to her living room. She poured them tea, which seemed to relax Sherlock, if only just a bit. And he explained himself. He and Mycroft and John had been taken by Euros, his sister, and forced to solve a series of challenges and riddles meant to break them. Eventually, Euros had challenged Sherlock to get her to say "I love you" to him on the threat of blowing up her flat with her inside, "Wait, did you just say 'explosives?"

"What? Yes, explosives," said Sherlock, before responding to the look on her face. "No, no, don't worry, there were never any explosives. No, that wasn't the point Euros' game. Blowing up your flat would've just gotten the authorities involved. Once Lestrade couldn't find me it wouldn't be long before someone who knew about this place came looking. No, she wouldn't have wanted that. Really, it was quite obvious."

As terrifying as the thought of explosives lining her walls was, something didn't line up, "And you didn't figure that out right away?"

He looked dumbstruck like he didn't know exactly what to say for once. He sat there quiet for a second, and when he finally did speak, he spoke slowly, deliberately, "The point of that… exercise… was to compromise me emotionally. Euros knew that you were the key to doing just that and she executed it quite well."

She could feel the adrenaline dump into her veins and her hearing fuzz over slightly. Her mind started going over what he had just said. He had spoken in the same tone he had in the phone call and his eyes looked pained. She had been used in a grand scheme to break Sherlock emotionally. She wasn't exactly sure how she felt about that, angry and excited, soaring with delight and sticky with sadness, guilt over being used to hurt Sherlock. She didn't like this Euros woman very much.

Through her thoughts, she faintly noticed Sherlock was speaking again, his words crystallized around her, "Molly… Molly, are you alright?"

"What, yes, yes I'm fine," she said. "So… you have a sister?"

Sherlock sat there for a second before a smile splayed across his face, it was brilliant. He laughed, "Yes, apparently I do. Who knew?"

They both laughed and a warmth spread across her, her tea had gone cold but it tasted sweetly still. Sherlock didn't look quite so exhausted as he had on her front steps and she found that she felt better as well. As if a weight that had been pressing down on her since he had hung up, no, since she had hung up, had been smashed and thrown to the side. He clapped his hands and got up from his seat, "I'm absolutely famished, would you fancy some chips?"

She stood up with him, the buzz in her ears had calmed down and she found that she was hungry herself, "I'd love some chips."

"Come on then!" he nearly shouted, grabbing her arm and leading her towards the door. "There's still so much to tell you!"


End file.
